The Avenger
by xxMusicalMime
Summary: Thirteen months have passed since Flippy's failed attempt to bomb the Vietcong base. Flaky's gone crazy - crazy enough to join the Army and volunteer for a rescue mission. But will she be able to take in the news when she hears...  RATED M FOR VIOLENCE.
1. Prologue: Flippy's Farewell

**A/N: ****I AM NOT DEAD.**

GEEZ, PEOPLE. :/

I am SO FRIGGIN SORRY that I haven't uploaded anything on my other works :/ I was so busy at school... And other stuff, too. Like my birthday on January 31st, the English Day, the Musical, the Science Quiz... GRAAAH :'/

Okay, so here it is: MY FIRST EVER HAPPY TREE FRIENDS FANFIC! *dances in joy* I support FLIPPYXFLAKY! AND YES, I AM SURE FLAKY IS A GIRL ;P

Rated M for violence, mainly. There's going to be a flashback in the upcoming chapters. Too bad I haven't written it yet ;D I have a plan... :"

In the meantime... R&R!

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><p>Time was of the essence, he thought as he packed up his things in an old rucksack. As he passed the old grandfather clock to pick up his toothbrush, he looked at the time: 1:00 AM. Cursing himself for his tardiness, he doubled his pace, and was at the door in ten minutes flat, his necessities inside his rucksack for another journey.<p>

When the doorbell rang, he sighed. There was only one person who would risk hypothermia just to try and stop him from going. When he opened the door, he wasn't disappointed. There stood Flaky, shaking in a thin jumper, rubbing her hands for warmth and coughing.

"Flaky," Flippy said, remorse coating his voice as he lightly shook his head. "I told you, I have to go. Now come on in for some hot cocoa."

Flaky shook her head hard, making her quills fall like missiles. It missed the pavement and landed on the soft snow, however, saving Flippy from any unnecessary flips. "Y-you d-d-don't have to go!" she whined, her voice awfully high-pitched. Once Flippy got a better look, he realized she had been crying.

"I have to, Flaky," he said, putting both of his hands on her shoulders. "I have an obligation to this country."

"T-then… what about… y-your obligation to your f-friends?" she rasped, sniffing. "W-what about me? A-are you going… to leave us again? Leave me again? J-j-just like that?"

Something snapped inside him, and Flippy found himself hugging Flaky tight, and for once, he was regretting having joined the Army. He could've led a normal life. Could've settled down and actually confess his feelings for her. But the pull of war had had a permanent impact on him. He even found bombing a Vietcong base easier.

"F-Flippy?" Flaky whispered, making Flippy's strong arms get a bit tighter around her form. She silently wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled into his chest, sighing. "Please… don't leave…"

Just as he was going to answer, the truck tasked to bear him to war appeared, honking angrily. Flippy was the only war veteran in this part of the country, and so he was the only one going to be escorted to the battle fields. The driver sighed when he arrived at the cozy scene, tapped his watch impatiently, and snorted. Flippy _so _wanted to run his bowie knife into his gut, but, then again, he wouldn't want Flaky to see such a show so early in the morning. He reluctantly broke away, and Flaky looked up at him, confused.

"You're still going..." she said, sadness reflecting in her eyes. It wasn't a question, but Flippy nodded.

"I'm sorry... I..." he started, but Flaky cut him off.

"Don't apologize," she said, smiling sadly. "Just... come back, okay?" The first tear fell, and he instantly brushed it away, but more were streaming down her face. "Come back soon."

"Shh," he said, sweeping her hair up. "I will. I promise."

"And if you don't," she continued, putting on a determined face. "I'll go to that island and drag you home, if I have to."

Flippy laughed, but it was short-lived. The idea of Flaky, who was easily scared of heights and imaginary things, going into battle was ludicrous. But when he saw the hard look of someone who was willingg to face her fears for him just made him smile again.

"Okay then, my little soldier," he said, ruffling her hair, and she squealed like a child. He then shrugged off his dogtags and put it around Flaky's neck, to her surprise. "If you're lonely, just hold on to these. I'll come home soon if you miss me to the point that you can't take it anymore, okay?"

"Yessir," she said, doing a little salute. Then she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "See you later, Flippy."

His cheeks burned. "Y-y-yeah," he stuttered, and walked back. He tripped on the snow on his way to the truck, which made Flaky giggle. "Stay safe. And sleep in my house tonight, yours is on the next block. You'll freeze to death."

"Will do," she said, waving.

He let out a nervous laugh as he stumbled into the army truck. He seat just behind the driver, who snorted and rolled away from the driveway. In no time, Flaky's waving figure was gone, and Flippy sighed.

"That's some lass you got there, son," the driver commented. "You oughtta get back to her."

"I will," he said curtly. "I promise."

And although he said those words truthfully, there was no mistaking the heavy feeling in his chest that he may not see home - or Flaky - for a long time.


	2. The Warm Welcome

CHAPTER 1 – The Warm Welcome

Flaky looked down on her lap as the helicopter propellers slowly whirred to life. She kept mindlessly playing with her own fingers, all the while covering her face with her beret. For good measure, though, she let her long red hair spill messily on the sides of her face. The pilot shouted something she didn't quite register, and before she knew it, they were going to Vietnam.

Once everybody had their bearings (they had been travelling by air and by water nonstop), their troop leader stood in front, looking at each one of them hard.

"All right, gang," he said, clapping his fingers to get his attention more. All of them straightened their backs and paid attention, Flaky included, albeit reluctantly. "We're going into action. The country's counting on us," he motioned to all of them, "for a successful search and destroy mission, if we could handle it. If we can't, then we should be able to get information about the whereabouts of the Ghost Troop, since they said that they have vital information that would help the government make the next step into preventing another war."

A hand shot into the air, and the troop leader sighed. "What is it now?"

Flaky turned, only a little curious, and saw the officer that raised his hand shiver. "A-are we really going to get face-to-face with Vietcong, sir?" he said in a dying voice.

Everyone became more silent, if that was possible. They all looked at their leader, their eyes asking the same question.

The leader sighed. "Thank you for bringing that up." He nodded to the soldier, who blushed and dipped his head in respect. "Well, as an answer to that... yes and no. Yes, because they were big supporters of the Vietcong back in the days, and because they had declared an all-out war against the government two years ago. No... Well, because the country's government is already Marxist-Leninist, which is a communist ideology... Even to me, it's unclear what their actions are... They declare an all-out war, put up an economic embargo against us, but in the past months they've been silent... Ever since... Ever since the incident."

He looked at Flaky, and everyone else did the same. She grimaced and glared at the floor, her hands balling into fists on her lap.

The infamous 'incident' they were talking about was a failed bombing of the enemy base that took place thirteen months ago. Flaky knew that Flippy was the team leader on said mission. She closed her eyes. Thirteen months...

"...You all right, soldier?" the leader barked in her direction, and she straightened.

"Sir, yes, sir," she replied mechanically. The other raised an eyebrow.

"You sure? You're looking a bit pale."

"I am sure... sir," she said, and looked down in shame.

The leader stayed silent for a while, and started talking again. "So here are the basics. We're looking for the Ghost Troop. And no one here knows anyone from the Ghost Troop except me and Flaky, here." He sighed and scratched his head. "Where to begin... Maybe you would like to share what you know, soldier?"

"Yes, sir," she said, and promptly stood up, her arms pinned to her side. "Thirteen months ago, I, along with the Staff Sergeant, received information from Flippy, the leader of the said troop, that he had plans to bomb the Vietcong base in the south. He reported that there was going to be a meeting on the twenty-sixth of November, in which the seniors will finalize what scratchy plans they have against us.

"I know not of the details, sir. On the night of the twenty-sixth, a soldier appeared on my door and told me that Flippy is... more or less dead." She gulped, the waves of grief getting fresher and fresher. Still, she continued to recount. "He - the soldier... he told me that Flippy's bombing mission had failed... He had already implanted the bombs, but something went wrong..." She shivered. "One month after that incident, there was a video... sent to me and the Staff Sergeant. An unknown voice... challenging us. Then... then he showed Flippy."

"Y-you can sit down now, soldier," the leader said hurriedly, panicking at how pale Flaky got. It would be bad if she was still racked to the core on the battlefield.

"N-no, sir," she said in a weak voice. "I...I can handle it." She breathed in and out carefully, then continued. "Flippy was bloody and bruised. Tied to a chair. He was... screaming for help. But when the voice told him to spill the secrets, he disobeyed. He was then... d-dragged... to someplace. He was screaming again... 'Not again! No! Please!'..." Her eyes twitched and she sat down as her knees gave way. The soldiers surrounding her consoled her and patted her on the back.

"I'm... f-fine, guys," she said, shrugging off the help. "Really... I'm all right." She showed a weak smile, and the soldiers nodded stiffly and reluctantly paid attention to the leader again.

"...And that's what we'll do," he was saying. "There are two four-man teams there, waiting for us at the meeting point. It's like a clearing, surrounded by jungle. It's a bit small, but it'll be enough. That's where the helicopter will land. The troops will arrive there in two jeepneys to send us to their base, where we are briefed about the Ghost Troop's last recorded location. They have tried contacting the troop, but to no avail. They can't leave base, either, since they are the welcoming party of reinforcements. It'll be up to us entirely after we leave their base. Am I clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Flaky and the others chorused.

"Good. And remember. Constant vigilance."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

The leader dismissed them and went to the pilot to ask how much more they have to endure travel. The troop was silent, except for a few who stood up and paced in circles. All of them were obviously nervous. This was real. There was no going back.

Flaky gulped, clutching the arm straps of her bag and feeling all her essentials and weapons inside. It made her feel calm. She forced upon herself that she had prepared for any situation she came up with, and that if ever she would die here… she shook her head. No. She would not die so easily. Flippy needed her. And she will come to his aid. No matter how hopeless the situation may be.

The leader came back, readying his backpack. "We're descending in ten minutes. Troop, get ready." He looked out the window and pointed. "Look, there they are." And, true to word, there were two black dots revving forward from the jungle surrounding their meeting point. Flaky was awed and somehow a little bit confused how there was a clearing in the middle of such a dense jungle and that the Vietcong didn't even bother to put guards or spies around the area. Nevertheless, it was one thing to their advantage. Who was she to question the enemy's ignorance?

All of them braced their backpacks and their weapons as the helicopter started to descend. Flaky looked out the window again. The two black dots steadily grew into jeepneys with a camouflage coat, and the generic green of the jungle got more details as they got closer to the ground. Finally, the helicopter landed with a soft thud that jolted Flaky's stomach.

"All right, guys. Constant vigilance," the troop leader repeated, opening the door, but his head swiveled in their direction. "You never know when the enemy is coming, so always keep your head alert or I'll – "

He never got to finish his threat. A knife had sailed through the air and wedged itself at the back of the troop leader's skull.


	3. It All Comes Down To

**A/N:** Fast update! *o*

Yeah, I finished this chapter last night XD

And guess what? :3 The following chapter is ALSO finished! So I can upload it tomorrow XD

Anyways. Enjoy reading! :D

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><p>Flaky knew she was the only girl in her team. Nevertheless, when the troop leader's body slumped to its knees and fell face first in a pool of blood, she wasn't the one who screamed. Flaky looked outside the door and saw, to her horror, two soldiers in blue uniforms, laughing as they shot out of the jeepneys.<p>

"They've gotten to the base!" she screamed, knowing that she was the only one who saw the soldiers. "Get a grip, guys!" She ran to the pilot and yelled, "GET THIS GODDAMNED FLYING MACHINE IN THE AIR! NOW!"

It was a good thing that the helicopter hadn't been shut off completely, or else it would've taken a lot of time to rev up the engine again. The pilot hurriedly obliged and they were soon 4 feet off the ground. However, the blue soldiers kept on coming, surrounding the helicopter. There was a scream from behind, and Flaky turned around. She gasped in horror.

One of the soldiers had a grappling hook embedded on his chest.

The blue soldiers attacked the first step they have on the copter. They had rifles slung around their necks, but they didn't dare use it in close proximity to grenades. Instead, they used sharp knives, obviously native to them. Knives long and sharp, slicing her mates. It was unorthodox, their killing method. They just stabbed and sliced anywhere, as long as it made contact. They would do it again and again, dodge, again and again…

"CAN'T YOU GO ANY FASTER?" she screamed, hysteria getting into her head. The copter was getting weighed down. Most of Flaky's teammates who were still alive got their guns, rifles, and knives ready. Nobody used the grenades. They were too close. And they had nowhere to run.

"Drop him!" Flaky ordered, pointing to the soldier who was practically bathing in his own blood. The grappling hook had pierced his skin, and it had been straining with the weight of oncoming soldiers. "Drop him, or we'll all be dead!"

Two of her teammates obliged and rolled the corpse down, sending upcoming enemies to the ground. However, there were at least six enemies on board, and there were only four of them, already including herself and the pilot.

"So…" one of the enemies said, taking a step forward and savoring the taste of fear as his tongue lashed out. He was obviously the ringleader of this ambush. "What brings you here?"

His troop laughed heartily, making the dread on Flaky's chest build up even more.

"B-BACK OFF!" One of Flaky's mates said, and she looked at him, surprised. It was the guy who had nervously asked the troop leader about facing the Vietcong. He had a nasty gash running across his left cheek, and there was blood streaming from an open wound above his eyebrow. He kept wiping the blood from his eye with his sleeve, which looked like they've had a washing in a blender. Nevertheless, he was in a defensive crouch. Obviously, he was thinking that this was his last stand.

"Oh, bugger off, you," the leader said, imitating a bad English accent and whipped out a really thin but really pointy toothpick to clean in between his teeth. After about three seconds, he threw it at the wall. The toothpick rebounded and accurately hit the soldier in the neck. Flaky knew it was fatal, and she wasn't surprised that her teammate fell. This didn't make things any better, though.

"JAMES!" Flaky's only teammate alive, a guy named Jeff, screamed. He emitted a kind of battle cry and got to the door just in time before the enemy bore down on him. He had something in his hand, and he raised his arm so everybody could see.

"YEP, BITCHES! I GOT A GRENADE, SO STEP BACK IF YOU STILL WANNA LIVE!" He said, and he laughed like a madman. Flaky would have screamed at him to control his stupidity, but she was too taken aback. And she feared that she might get killed the moment she opened her mouth.

"YEAH! YOU SILENT NOW, HUH?" he said, waving his hand around like a flag. "YOU BITCHES SHOULD BEG! GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES AND BEG FOR YOUR SHITTY LIVES! GO ON!"

One enemy soldier actually did kneel down, but all the rest kept standing. Flaky knew something was going to happen. It was all too sudden. And the kneeling soldier was not scolded by his leader.

Jeff growled, obviously not satisfied with only one down on his knees. He opened the copter door, and all their hair went wild in the air. "BEG NOW! OR I'LL BLOW THIS COPTER TO PIEC – "

Something flashed in the air and the next thing Flaky knew, Jeff had staggered backwards, freefalling into the jungle below, a knife wedged in his chest. Flaky could see that the knife struck home. It even cracked one of Jeff's dogtags.

"Honestly, the enemy is getting more senile by the minute," the leader commented, looking out of the open door casually, his hair looking like tentacles in the wind. "What does he think he can do with a smoke grenade?"

Flaky didn't move a muscle. If she could, she doubted she would. But then the world suddenly tilted. Everyone was taken aback. She instantly put her hands in front of her and clung to a crate of rations as the helicopter danced in circles. Even the enemy soldiers, who were giving off a cool impression, were now panicking as their legs began getting uncooperative with the floor. Then, with a sudden jolt to Flaky's right, about half of the soldiers spilled out, screaming. By the looks of their horrified faces, they didn't have a parachute.

Then, as sudden as the movements started, they stopped. Flaky was on all fours on the floor, curled up into a ball, surrounded by blood that was not hers. She had a long gash on her cheek from a rusty old nail, and she was bruised all over from being tossed around like a ragdoll. It could've traumatized her immediately, but this was the least of her problems.

She couldn't see anything with her eyes closed, but there was no mistaking the disgusting, wet noise that could only be a kill. There was a kind of eerie silence, and then something thudded beside her. She could feel some kind of warm foreign liquid creeping in her direction, and she stood up, too suddenly.

She didn't have much movement after that, what with a long knife casually resting against the skin on her neck. She didn't quite comprehend how the enemies never seem to run out of knives, but it would better if she did not speak up.

"What do we have here?" the leader cooed into her ear, his warm breath making Flaky sick. He inhaled deeply and sighed dreamily. "Ah… a woman."

His troop was in chaos. There were a bunch of hollering, wolf-whistling, and sexual innuendos followed by hearty guffaws. The leader made no effort to silence them, and instead chuckled darkly. He withdrew his knife, to Flaky's relief and confusion, and went back to his original position with his team.

"Well, since you're the only one left, I'll have to take you alive," he said formally, as though this was done on a daily basis. "Maybe the Doctor would like to have a word with you."

That shut all of them up. She didn't know why, but at the mere mention of this mysterious 'Doctor', all of them quivered in their boots. Who is this 'Doctor' they were talking about? What does he specialize in? Is it possible that he has information about Flippy and the Ghost Troop?

"…probably will torture you," the leader was saying, and Flaky paid attention. Maybe he would slip, or something. "Maybe… the slow slicing method that was used in China during the 1900s, but that would be cruel to a delicate flower like you." He sighed sympathetically, as though he actually cared about what would happen to her. "How about this? You spill the beans about why you're here, and we'll kill you afterwards. Easy. It'll be painless, it'll be quick. Just one crack on your neck, and it's over – "

"Where's Flippy?" she demanded, although her voice was an octave higher than normal. She hated how her voice wavered when she said his name. Nonetheless, she constructed her face into a motionless mask, even in the face of guffawing soldiers.

The troop leader raised his eyebrows and smirked, again ignoring his team, who were hollering like animals. "I see," he said, pacing in front of Flaky, who backed away from him and stumbled into boxes. "So… this 'Flippy' is what brought you here?"

"I know he's still alive," she whispered gravely, not taking her eyes off of his as her hands groped air behind her back. Good thing it was dark on this part of the helicopter, or else someone would've noticed her working to get a weapon. "Tell me what you did to him."

The leader shook his head in dismay. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, and if I do, I can't tell you – "

"WHERE DID YOU TAKE HIM!" she screamed, curling up into a ball and backing away again, into the confines of more boxes, more darkness. "TELL ME! WHAT DID YOU DO TO FLIPPY!"

Her hands groped something to her left, but it was far from a weapon. It was the cold hand of their pilot, who had dropped dead from three consecutive stabs in the back. She whimpered. How had they stayed aloft in so much control? She caught sight of the words 'auto-pilot' blinking.

Oh.

"I don't know who we are talking about," the leader said, trying to get her to the light again. "Look, I'm not all bad, so trust me – "

"NO!" she yelled, her hands desperately flying. The hysteria on her voice was only half of the truth. She was playing the part of being deranged to buy her time… enough time to find a decent weapon. "YOU KNOW WHERE THEY TOOK HIM! I SAW HIM! IT WAS TWELVE MONTHS AGO SINCE I LAST SAW HIM!"

The leader blinked in sudden realization, and Flaky's heart seemed to stop. "Ah… You mean..." he stuttered, obviously amazed at his discovery of something. "No… no, that can't be… but… twelve months ago…"

Flaky wanted to coax more information from the sympathetic soldier, but she was running out of time. The other soldiers were noticing, and they were shouting warnings and protests. As one soldier pointed his rifle at her, her hand closed in on something, and her heart skipped.

"Boys, boys, settle down," the leader said, obviously getting his bearings in check. He swiveled around to look at the soldier with the rifle, and he lowered his weapon reluctantly.

The moment the leader turned around, though, Flaky had done a roundhouse kick, her foot smashing into his jaw and making a satisfying sound. She ran to the still open door and, before the others could react intelligently, she pulled the pin off the grenade she was holding, and threw it at an enemy soldier, who smartly caught it.

"See ya, fellas," she said in a snarky voice. She made a kind of mock salute, stretched out her arms, and just as a bullet whizzed inches from her ear, she fell backwards into the air.


	4. Wherefore Art Thou?

**A/N: Yay! I am on an update roll! *does the dougie***

**SO! With Flaky away from imminent danger (or is she? DUN DUN DUUUUUN!), three men had been holding a meeting as to what they should do with the female soldier. And these three men are: the General, the Lieutenant General (who is in deep shit, by the way XD), and, of course, the ever mysterious 'Doctor' that everyone's just DYING to know.**

**A secret revealed. Who would ever guess?...**

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><p>The General calmly pressed a button in front of him, and the footage was paused. He reclined on his chair, his hands clasped under his chin, his already small eyes squinted in disdain at the female soldier who had escaped.<p>

"Lieutenant General," he growled, and the person to his right squeaked like a mouse. So much for a person second in command to the ruthless Tiger of the South, or so they call the General. The Lieutenant General gulped and gripped the edge of his chair nervously. He knew what was coming, obviously. He had personally recommended one of his men to lead the party tasked to intercept the enemy's reinforcements. And he had failed. Pathetically. There was no doubt he would be held in charge. "Do you know what your actions have begun?"

He didn't dare answer. It would be the end of his life. Not that his life won't end before the sun sets later on in the day.

"You've let our delicate flower run wild," the General answered his own question, looking at his fingers like there was something in them that could change the world. "You've given it a chance for survival. A chance of refutation. A chance to destroy our plans we have worked hard to conceal in the past months."

They were silent for a while, and the Lieutenant General ticked away in his mind. One minute. Two. Five. This was all getting unbearable.

"Ah, lay off him," another voice said, and the Lieutenant General quivered. The owner of that voice was definitely a man. He was sitting on the General's left, his chin propped on his hand as he freely puffed smoke from his fourth cigarette in the meeting. He had long, yet slender, fingers, as though they were conditioned to the highest degree to be able to move fast and to move discreetly. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose just above his rectangular glasses. "It's not his fault that the imbecile messed up. He was only trying to help."

"But Doctor," the General said, always having patience with the messed up man, which greatly confuses all of his subordinates. "It was his suggestion that that idiot take the lead. Surely it is he to blame, since he should be the one to assess the skills of his subordinates to the fullest."

"Well, I've seen that idiot 'round my lab," the Doctor said casually, propping both of his feet on the table as though it was his and he flicked his cigarette. "He's smart, you know? Real alert. Although he was really twitchy when I asked him what business he had around my area." He shrugged. "Meh. All of the other guys nearly wet themselves when I ask them. But this boy's got guts. I mean," he leaned forward, into the light. "I don't look like a monster… do I?"

"Not at all," the other two chorused mechanically. Really, he wasn't hideous. In fact, the Doctor was every girl's dream. Long, silky hair that always "looked quite sexy even matted with blood", or so the female soldiers say. A lean, but otherwise muscle-y frame. Eyes that remind you of the sun. A voice that would calm you down even if you were being mutilated. Pale skin that would always be in stark contrast to what he wears. Even though he was in the side of the Vietcong, he would not wear the customary uniform of doctors/healers. A black undershirt, a dark green polo, dark jeans, and a variety of Converse shoes. Only that, and a pair of American dogtags he had salvaged from his latest victim. "I feel weird not wearing something around my neck," he had said when he showed it off, with his surprisingly curly writing blaring his name as the lights shone on the silver.

"Still, the Lieutenant General should be punished," the General said suddenly. He snapped his fingers twice. Automatically two guards boundd in from the door and lifted the Lieutenant General away by the arms.

The Doctor sighed. "Don't put him on the slow slicing area," he hollered after the guards. "Put him in the torture rack. The slow slicing's in maintenance at the moment."

When the doors closed, the General rubbed his temples tiredly. "Remind me, when did you become such a psychopath again?"

"Since I became the Head of the Torture Department," the Doctor replied nonchalantly, stretching his limbs that seemed to reach the sky. Then he became rigid, as though realizing something, and he became serious. "And I can't remember when that is, exactly… Maybe more than ten months…" He scratched his head. "All I remember is waking up, you telling my name, and I get so frustrated that I went crazy on your last Lieutenant General."

The General patted the Doctor's back good-naturedly. "Eh. Let's not talk about that." He seemed pretty shaken. Not because of the mention of his last second-in-command. Maybe because of the Doctor's sudden and mysterious arrival and acceptance.

"As you can see here," the General said, blowing up the frozen part of the surveillance. "We have a guest in this island."

The Doctor whistled and adjusted his glasses to see better. "A redhead, eh?" he said, licking his lips hungrily. "And a female, too! Wow, what a find! Can't I keep her for myself?"

"You've already got about three young maidens," the General pointed out, although he was smirking. "And you still want another?"

"But this one is so deliciously young!" the Doctor whined like a child would. Then he burst out laughing. "Okay, okay, enough. Won't you send a troop to catch her?"

"I've already personally dispatched about three," the other replied, forwarding the surveillance film and suddenly hits the play button. About seven soldiers in blue uniforms staggered about in the dense jungle foliage, swinging their rifles and knives this way and that. The General opened another screen, and another seven soldiers were checking the lake for any tracks the escapee might've left. "Our surveillance caught the guest when she was falling. She landed in the lake. We don't know if she has resurfaced or not, but rest assured, the moment she had landed on the water, three troops were sent out to capture her."

"I'm impressed," the Doctor said, genuine awe in his voice. He raised his hand to his head, but he groped nothing and, instead, sighed at his stupidity. "Ah, I forgot my hat in the lab. Stupid…"

He banged his head on the table and made a loud thud that resonated on the otherwise small meeting room. Then he resurfaced, smiling as though nothing had happened. "Well, then. Tell them that you want the pretty little rose alive. Then give her to me. I know exactly what to torture her with," he added dreamily, smirking. "So! The meeting's finished? Can I go and dissect the odd fowl I discovered now?"

"Not yet," the General said, his voice taking on a new level of seriousness. When the Doctor raised an eyebrow, he reversed almost half of the surveillance film, right to the bit where the quality was low, since they had tapped into the handheld transceiver being carried by one of the soldiers in the copter. There was no visual, but the audio was very much in shape. The General pressed a button, and a conversation begins to unfold.

"WHERE DID YOU TAKE HIM!" a female voice, an octave higher than normal, suddenly screamed from the speakers. "TELL ME! WHAT DID YOU DO TO FLIPPY!"

"I don't know who we are talking about," another voice, barely recognizable, said distantly. It must've been the troop leader. "Look, I'm not all bad, so trust me - "

"NO!" the girl yelled, obviously not buying the pathetic excuse for trust. "YOU KNOW WHERE THEY TOOK HIM! I SAW HIM! IT WAS TWELVE MONTHS AGO SINCE I LAST SAW HIM!"

The General paused the audio, and looks at the Doctor, who was now looking bloodless. His pupils were dilated in fear and confusion. "What do you make of this?" the older one asked, squinting suspiciously.

The Doctor gulped. "I don't recognize the girl," he says in a hushed voice. "But… that voice…" He shook his head. "Nah. Probably just getting attached to the screaming of men in my lab. It's kind of a norm, seeing that there's a small chance that a woman would get inside – "

"You know what I'm talking about, _Doctor_," the other said, cutting him off. The title was now something else – a word that, taken lightly, would mean a skewered neck.

Instead of feeling intimidated, however, the Doctor laughed. "I don't know this fella, however much I want to," he said, pointing to the blank screen pausing the redheaded soldier's delirious screams. "I would love to dissect her, though…"

"Is that the truth?" the General demanded, forcing the other to look into his eyes.

"Yes," the Doctor replied, all humor gone from his voice. His sinister yellow eyes held innocence and, possibly, a little realization. "Because as Head of the Torture Department, I, Flippy, would not hesitate to kill and mutilate the ones who know about my existence without my knowledge and permission."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And... CLIFFHANGER! *evil laugh***


	5. The Warning Siren

**A/N:** _ Hey._

*expects yellow birds flying at her*

Aiya. Sorry for updating so late ^^; Massive writer's block. And the fact that I'm no good with no dialogue, but let's keep that hush hush, all right? ;)

R&R!~ 3

* * *

><p>"Check the area surrounding the lake," one man ordered. Clearly, he was the leader of this troop.<p>

One soldier, obviously his subordinate, protested. "But, sir, we've already checked – "

"Don't you dare talk back at me!" the other screamed, smacking his subordinate up the head. "What we're up against is a female, true, but she's outwitted us so far. Do you think we can afford to get hoodwinked again?"

Flaky had been up on a tree, watching the men look for her. She had heard enough about her, though. She stopped peeking over the leaves and withdrew, leaning her back on the thick bark. She forced herself not to breathe too loudly, and, when she guessed that the soldiers weren't close to her tree anymore, she stretched out her left arm and winced.

She was injured, all right, but not too much. While in the water, she had been hit by one of the few bullets that flew in with her. Fortunately, this was only a superficial wound, only a graze. But she was losing blood, albeit in minimal amounts.

She whimpered and gingerly got the first aid kit in her backpack. The branch she was on was about as thick as her whole body, and so she put her supplies on the next branch, which was fortunately within reach. Then she got out what was necessary for treatment, and began.

Flaky bit her lip as she cleaned the wound with a clean cloth. The bleeding was receding, but it was still there. She got out the next material – alcohol – and, groaning, she poured a bit of the substance into another cloth. Then she cleaned the wound.

She couldn't help yelping in pain, and she almost fell out of her tree. Luckily she had steadied herself in the last moment. She panted. The alcohol left a burning sensation on her exposed skin. But she knew it was necessary. She gulped in air for a minute, balled up her soaking beret, stuffed her mouth with it, and continued the cleaning, occasionally emitting whimpers and small screams that only she can hear.

After the self-torment, she raised her left arm, with her right pressing another cloth to the wound to stop blood flow. She sighed, wincing. While waiting, she assessed her possessions.

Her backpack was intact. It wasn't the least bit wet, both outside and inside, for the cloth was covered in some kind of waterproof material that made the water slick off in droplets. Inside the pack were her rations, an extra change of clothes, the first aid kit, a sleeping bag, her notepad full of important details she had written down during past briefings, two large flasks full of clean water, a bottle of iodine, and, of course, the letters and the dog tags Flippy had given her. She sighed. Well, at least she was as prepared as ever…

Her fifteen minutes were up, and she carefully wrapped the wound with clean bandages, which she hid under her jacket. She checked the surrounding are for another five minutes and, when she decided that the coast was clear, she slid down the tree carefully, landing in what was hopefully a catlike fashion. She figured she'd have enough water for a little walk, and so she followed the enemies, whose voices were so painfully distant, all the while keeping close to the lake and an eye out for flowing water.

On and on she went, it seemed like an hour, but no luck. She was too far away to overhear anything. For the last ten minutes, the voices had completely died away. She thought about giving up, but she shook her head. If she wanted to rescue Flippy as soon as possible, she'd go to the base. Right away. She consulted her map of the island Flippy had sent to the Staff Sergeant some months ago before he was captured. It was very detailed. Red spots showed where the enemies were clustered or scattered. A spidery line of ink wove its way down, almost splitting the map into perfect halves. This would represent the river. On the west of the end of this line was a red rectangle, signifying enemy base. She trudged on, panting and guessing where she was now.

She wondered if she was starting to hallucinate from the heat of the dense jungle foliage and her uniform, so she zipped open her jacket and dwindled down a quarter of one of her flasks. She grimaced and, deciding that it was enough of a start for the day, walked back to the lake dejectedly, following the edge to see if there was any source of flowing water in an arm's reach.

"Ha," she said triumphantly to herself as she caught sight of a little creek, the water as clear as day. The little bugger seemed to give way to a stream as Flaky's eyes roamed, then the river on the map if she pressed farther. She smirked and, since she wasn't really low on water yet, she picked a nearby tree tall enough to avoid predators. She climbed it, and, since the sun was beginning to set, she began making the necessary preparations.

She got out her sleeping bag and slid in it, thankful that it reflected body heat. She needed the warmth. It was still too bright to sleep, though, and she pored over some notes she researched before settling in. She grabbed her notepad and recited them carefully to herself voicelessly. It looked like she was lip-synching.

"Video stated that he was alive…" she mouthed, tapping a finger to the sheet. "Although that was well over ten months ago. Anything could've happened." Her lower lip trembled and she shook her head of any grisly thoughts. "No. I know he's alive. S-s-somehow…" She shuddered and resumed reading. "Possibly being tortured for information… But Flippy is smart enough. He could find a way to defeat them all like he did in the previous war… wiped out a whole base single-handedly before… There's no way he can't do it…"

Flaky stared long and hard at the paper, as though the words suddenly didn't make sense. "And what was that 'Doctor' thing about?" she whispered to herself. "Is that a kind of witch doctor, or something? A kind of professional? No, that guy mentioned torture… So, this 'Doctor' specializes in torture?" She racked her brains again, but no luck. She would have to get more clues tomorrow.

She sank her body down halfway into her sleeping bag, and she crossed her arms on her chest as she looked at the scene. The sun shone like a bright orange beacon as it slowly sunk in the west. She closed her eyes for a moment, sighing. How she loved sunsets back then. She'd spend the end of the day with Giggles, Petunia, Cuddles, Flippy, and Handy, maybe after a fun baseball match, or going to a kind of evening picnic at the park. Those were good times – not caring about anything. Blissful oblivion. No restraints. You could do anything, anytime. Flaky smiled sadly and drifted for a moment, the faces of the friends she had left behind swimming before her eyes. Then she let loose of everything she regretted at the moment with a dry sob, and sank into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p>Everything was a blur. The foliage around her seemed to thicken and thin and thicken again all by itself. The leaves seemed to hurl themselves at her all at the same time, then when they were an inch from slicing into her skin, they'd back away. And the taunting continues.<p>

She ran forward, not waiting for anything but for this bizarre nightmare to stop.

Flaky suddenly escaped the leaves, and when she looked back, they stood there as unmoving as a rock. She sniffed haughtily and kept walking, trying to calm down her racing heart.

The scene shifted.

She was now walking down an invisible path; somehow she knew that if she didn't follow it, she'd fall into oblivion. Her feet trudged on without her thinking about it, as though somebody else controlled her limbs. She dared look up, expecting pitch black nothingness, but what she saw was something, and it was something horrible.

Flippy was there, bloodied and bruised, hanging to some surface with his arms roped above his head. He was so close Flaky could see the sweat glistening on his bare torso, the half-healed lacerations on his back, and the past bruises that were a sick shade of yellow.

"F-Flippy?" she croaked nervously.

Flippy's head flicked back, and he gasped, as though he was holding his breath all this time. He heard her and looked down, his eyes boring into hers. They were different, though. Instead of those startling green orbs she was expecting, they were a sickly yellow, dilated in fear.

"Flippy, I came to get you!" She said weakly, and she kept walking forward, to no avail. The path just went on and on. No matter how far Flaky would go, whenever she stopped and looked up, there still was Flippy, panting.

"R-run," Flippy muttered, his voice hoarse of disuse. He coughed, and out his mouth came blood.

"W-wha…"

"Run!" he shouted, the voice growing more feral. He looked at her again with those yellow eyes, although this time there was sadistic euphoria in them.

"F-Flippy…?"

Flippy opened his mouth as though to scream, but instead, another sound came out.

Inhuman.

Constant.

High.

It was a siren.

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><p><strong>AN: **Aaaaaaaaaand cliffhanger again! XD


	6. Checkmate

**A/N: **Well, sorry for taking so long. I had a long debate with myself about whether letting THAT *points at the bottom* happen, or let the story grow longer, to my usual number of chapters.

But then I can't think of any other way to end this situation, so I decided to put THAT into the story. I'll just have to adjust my number of chapters.

SO! I hope you like this, even though it's quite short.

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><p>Flaky twisted in her sleeping bag, her legs flying. She almost fell if she hadn't grasped the tree trunk she was leaning on. She panted, squinting at the dull orange glow the rising sun was giving off. It was the next day.<p>

The siren was real. She began to panic when she assessed the source. It was somewhere in the distance. Somewhere northeast from where she was. She wriggled free from her sleeping bag, packed it hastily, and stood up on her branch.

Even if it was a bit far, there was, no doubt, the enemy base. It was, in her eyes, like a marble, shining like a beacon. It was as though it wasn't even trying to go incognito with the white color that was in stark contrast with the jungle foliage. There was a thin strip of pavement leading into it. The river, as she had guessed correctly, was only a few hundred feet from the base.

There was a kind of commotion, though. Or some plans for a big event. There was a kind of pell-mell stage in front of the base, with a hundred or so chairs in front. Soldiers in blue uniforms were filing out and marching to their seats in small groups of two and three. As they sat down, with their backs straight and with their gazes directed to the empty stage, Flaky had the urge to go down there and see for herself what was going on.

* * *

><p>She arrived by the base, watching a good distance away from the event itself. She wasn't too near to be spotted, or too far not to know anything. She was hidden with the jungle foliage. Flaky suddenly became thankful that the foliage was thick.<p>

All the while she was running to the base, the soldiers had doubled. Now, as she settled down on the ground and tested out her injured arm, she took in the scene.

Flaky wasn't mistaken of the stage she saw. It was made of wood. It looked creaky, but the way the senior officers sat down on the chairs grouped to one corner, it was sturdy. There was a podium on the center of the stage. There was no microphone, obviously. Just a podium. The officers seated on the stage looked at their watches impatiently.

Apparently, the guest speaker was running late. All of the soldiers, except the ones who were still inside guarding the base, were assembled in front, not even twitching. They were very silent. It made Flaky's eye twitch. The silence was deafening.

Luckily, one of the senior officers stood up and took his place behind the podium. He was a heavy-set man, an eye patch over his left eye. His silver hair was in a buzz cut. His hat was between his right arm and his body. His face was a decoration of scars and stitches, probably left from the last war. He walked with a kind of limp in his right leg. When he spoke over the crowd, his voice was low and feral, like a tiger's growl.

"Listen up," he roared without so much as a good morning. "As you all know, this island has been raised to Code Red. We have an intruder." He grimaced, his lopsided mouth twisting. "We have a woman."

No one moved. Flaky could've heard a pin drop. Literally.

"Objectives are not yet concrete, but we have some guesses," the General continued. "However, this is a public meeting. These guesses will be kept in secrecy for a while longer." He stopped and looked far away, as though imagining where Flaky could be. "Our territory is no longer safe. One little slip from an officer has jeopardized our plans. Do not make another mistake." He eyed every one of them beadily. "Prove to me that I haven't been training pussy-cats for war.

"Dismis – "

"WAIT!"

Flaky's head twisted to the side along with countless others, to the source of the sudden shout. After some rustling in the leaves, a scrawny soldier came out of the foliage, his hat askew and his face dazed. He ran to the General, bowing so low Flaky was afraid he was going to collapse into a dead faint on the General's boots. But he arose again, panting heavily, and whispered something into the General's ear.

The General listened for a bit, his one good eye widening slightly, and he nodded curtly. He then turned his back to the podium and sat down with his other officials, shrugging.

The soldier had gotten a bit of his bearings and cleared his throat. He fixed his hat and started to speak, his face glistening with sweat like a beacon.

"A message," he said nervously, "from the Doctor."

There were murmurs in the crowd and between the officials. Flaky's ears perked up instantly. What the hell was up with this Doctor, to instill fear even in the hearts of his own team?

The soldier dropped a hand on the podium, and all of them instantly silenced. "The Doctor apologizes for not being here on time. I believe he has found a lead on the island's visitor. He simply cannot leave it, or else, he says, the trail might run cold."

Flaky swallowed silently, goose bumps erupting on her arms and legs.

The soldier continued. "The Doctor instructed me to warn all of you that everyone is _not _allowed to tell _anyone _about the Doctor's whereabouts, personality, lifestyle, likes and dislikes, or even physical description." He looked far away, squinting. "No one is authorized to tell anyone about where he came from and when he arrived. All of this is top secret. He also said that the General had agreed upon these terms."

As though for support, he looked back at the General, who nodded. He turned back to the audience, flustered.

"And also," he muttered seriously, clearing his throat. "He has a message to our visitor."

Flaky almost gasped, but her voice was muffled by a gloved hand on her mouth. She couldn't resist, since there was a bowie knife on her throat.

The soldier smiled cynically, quoting the Doctor's last message: "Checkmate."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Surprised at what you read? Confused at how BLAND I wrote it? Well, right now, I'm fainting, so please, tell me when I can take it...

Ah... cliffhangeerrr... *faints*


	7. The Meeting

**A/B: **I'm really sorry about the long delay of the update, guys. Shit happened and depression burrowed deeper.

Actually, I've compromised with God two days ago that I will not write or draw anything for one year.

Now I'm breaking it since I new comments on this.

So here ya go~ Finally finished.

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><p>"Unhand me!" Flaky snarled as she was brought up to the stage, her legs flying. Her arms were tied behind her back, and she was easily carried by two enemy soldiers an arm each. "Release me NOW!"<p>

"Looks like we got the nasty little fucker who made us miss last night's football," the General commented, laughing heartily as though he was a patient grandparent to his rebel of a granddaughter. "Just look at her! What a teensy thing to be in the American army!"

The soldiers laughed along with him, commenting about the low standards of the Army.

"A WOMAN can enter the army?" One particularly burly soldier hollered from the third row. "If that's so, then America will be under a house maid in no time!"

"Be rational! They're obviously doing it to lessen the homosexuality in the ranks!"

"Wow, they actually noticed through their fat heads!"

"Enough!" The General said in a hard tone, and all the jungle seemed to obey his command. "Enough."

He walked to Flaky, who was roughly pushed down to her knees. She was made to face the General with a pull of her hair, and what she saw was not pretty. Death, insatiable blood thirst, and the masochistic fervor that have driven soldiers to be disciplined with fear. This was not what she believed in as a soldier.

"A gentle flower like you has no place in this jungle," he whispered in her ear, making her cringe. "Now tell me – why are you here?"

"Where's Flippy?" Flaky snapped quietly, attempting to break free from the iron hands holding her shoulders down. She failed. "Where did you keep him? I _know _he's still alive!"

She waited for a slap on the face. A punch on the head. A kick in the gut. Anything that would've stated that, no, Flippy was not in the custody of the Vietcong.

Instead, she was met with a shiver – it was barely there, but Flaky knew that the General was unnerved of her question. Flushed with her success, she stayed quiet, her mind racing with questions. _Flippy was alive_, she concluded without hesitation. _Alive and well_.

"I don't know what you are talking about," the General said calmly and loudly, for all the soldiers to hear. "We do _not _have a nuclear bomb."

Flaky's mouth fell open. What the hell? Why was he rambling about a bomb? She was talking about a person! After a few second she got to the idea that the General was lying to his subordinates.

"What the hell are you talking about?!" she screamed, flailing helplessly. "You _know _what I want! You _know _my answer!"

"Get her to the Doctor," the General whispered to the soldiers, who nodded and said something foreign. Then they lifted Flaky up by her arms and carried her inside like a sack of potatoes.

"GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF ME!" Flaky screamed, making jerking movements so she could get free. Her attempts were in vain, however, and in no time she was inside the Vietcong's headquarters. The last thing she saw was the General eyeing her with great disgust and – did she see it correctly? – fear. Before she could think of a reason as to why the General of the South would be afraid of her, the doors had swung shut on her face, and a blow to the head had made her lose consciousness.

* * *

><p>"Doctor?"<p>

"What?" Flippy growled, making his assistant shrink back in horror. The scrawny brown-haired boy – who looked no older than sixteen even though he was five years older – gulped and held his clipboard to his chest as a kind of feeble shield.

"T-t-the General has a m-message," he replied, his voice growing meek. Flippy's ears twitched and he spun around on his swivel chair, now facing him from behind a metal desk cluttered with paper and an interesting assortment of knives. The Doctor clasped his hands and rested his chin on them, making him look lost in thought.

"I'm listening," he rasped in his rough voice.

The assistant nodded and took a shaky breath before quoting the General. "He said for me to inform you that… t-that… 'Our little flower is being moved to your flower pot'." It was clear on his pale face that he didn't understand what the General meant with the metaphor.

Flippy obviously did, however, and his face broke out in a manic grin that made even the assistant's pimples turn white. "That's great!" he roared, laughing. "Tell the guards that are bringing the flower to, ah, _deposit _her here in my office first."

"Yes, sir," the assistant whimpered, bowing so low that Flippy quickly calculated that his body was bent for a full 90 degrees before ducking out the door.

"Another jumpy one," Flippy muttered to himself, sighing and scratching his cheek absently. "Jeez, there seems to be a lot of them wherever I go."

* * *

><p>Flaky woke up to a kind of banging on the walls. She wanted to scream at her bunkmates to shut the hell up for being so noisy. But she remembered everything in an instant, and she opened her eyes, not quite expecting anything.<p>

She was in a kind of enclosed space – a restricted nexus – that made her skin crawl. Claustrophobia was one of her numerous phobias, and instantly she felt herself start to sweat and hyperventilate. She had to find a way out, but it was close to impossible. Her hands were tied on her back with thick rope. Her beret had been balled up and forcefully shoved into her mouth, gagging her effectively. Her legs were bent at an odd angle, but she could feel pain, so that was somewhat good news. No bones seemed to be broken. Not yet, anyway.

Flaky realized she was inside a metal cage, with no windows and a solitary door that can only be accessed from the outside. She whimpered for air and she twisted her ankles so it banged on the walls of her cage, begging for mercy from the monsters. Her lungs burned and she could feel her heart race with every desperate breath of longing for air.

"Set it down," a deep, gravelly voice sounded outside her cell, and she was not so gently dropped into the ground, making her sway precariously and bang into the metal wall.

There was a laugh that made her hairs stand on end. "Well, isn't she a lively one?" the voice spoke up again, deeply amused. "Open the crate and let me see our flower."

There was a hiss of agreement and a moment later, a great creaking was heard. The door to her cell swung outward and she squinted, trying to adjust her eyesight to the sudden blaring of lights.

Flaky heard a whistle – one perverted drunken people usually threw at her as she passed by, wearing her uniform – and she recoiled. Her blurry vision slowly got more resolution and there was a face looking down at her. A face that she'd never expect to be there.

"F-Flippy?!" she squeaked, mortified as she took his form in. "W-w-what have you become?!"

"Oh?" Flippy's golden eyes glinted in the yellow sickly light and his slim lips parted to reveal sharp canines in all their glory. His pale hands were stuck deep into the pockets of his lab coat as he scrutinized the delicate flower in front of her. "I don't think we've met before, have we?"


End file.
